I don't care if they eat me alive

A Kuroko no Basuke fanfic (MidorimaXOC)

A/N: I can’t believe I wrote this. Oh, here it goes.

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Midorima gazes up at the sky as raindrops continue to prickle his face. He closes his eyes and let the rain soak his hair, his clothes, his whole being in the futile hopes of washing away the sadness inside of him. The rain serves another purpose for him, he thinks. It will keep people from noticing the tears that just won’t stop streaming from his eyes.

If only he didn’t fake that last shot…

If only he double-checked his horoscope this morning…

If only—

“I was looking for you,” a soft voice calls.

He opens his eyes slightly, his train of thoughts suddenly interrupted. The sky shows no sign of halting the rain anytime soon, and he relishes on the enveloping coldness around him. Finally, he diverts his eyes to the side, acknowledging the owner of the voice. Despite the strain on his face, on his body and on his whole being; in spite of the weariness and the long day he’s had, he smiles—a tired, weary one; but nonetheless, genuine. It almost goes imperceptible, but she knows him well enough to appreciate those little gestures; those hidden smiles that only she seems to notice.

He closes his eyes once again as he hears her approaching, head still tilted up toward the sky. He sighs inaudibly as he feels her hand cup his cheek. This time, he knows, she won’t be skipping along and annoying him with her bright big smile. She won’t be teasing him with his obsession with horoscopes and lucky items and calling it all nonsense. He bets she won’t even scowl when she sees those tears streaming down his face. When he opens his eyes and look down upon her, however, he was wrong.

There she stands, gazing up from under that conspicuously bright yellow umbrella with a wide grin plastered on her face. Once again, he is slightly amazed at how wide she can get her mouth open, and his eyes trail to where they subconsciously end up whenever he sees her smiling face: her white teeth.

“Stop that. You look like an idiot,” he says sternly under his breath.

He sees her reduce her wide grin to a subtle, sweet smile, her hand still holding on to him. “I was smiling for both us,” she says, running her thumb through the tears on his face. “I’m gonna need a hefty lot of smiles to make up for your sour mood just for this afternoon alone.”

He averts his eyes and looks straight ahead. The last thing he wants right now is something that might make him cry even more and make him all mushy inside. He blushes slightly at the sudden thought of her hand caressing his cheek and she notices this, so she pulls back and looks anywhere but to his eyes, suddenly running out of words to say.

He remembers that she isn’t used to showing gestures of affection. He doesn’t tell her, though, that he likes it that way, that her hand on his cheek makes him feel better. Instead, he clears his throat in an attempt to ward off the sudden silence.

She looks up at him.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles.

He hears her chuckle lightly and he relishes on the sound of her laughter. Finally, he looks at her and she is still smiling.

“Of course, you should be. I won’t have a cry-baby for a boyfriend, you know that.”

The word boyfriend gave a strange tingle to his ears and he watched as her mouth curled smoothly as she pronounced that word. In spite of himself, he smiles and reaches out to her head and secures her in a hug.

“You’re getting me wet,” he hears her complain, yet she stays in his arms and makes no move to get away. After a few moments, she drops the umbrella and clutches to his shirt, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

“I will smile for you,” Midorima says in a low voice, but loud enough for her to hear. He feels her smiling to his chest, and for the first time that day, he feels truly happy and satisfied.

It’s 11:48 P.M. and though it’s unusually early for my typical bedtime, I know I’m supposed to be sleeping right now. You know those times when you look into the mirror and notice your awfully unattractive (redundant?) eye bags and you start to promise yourself that tonight would be different: you would sleep early. Then come nighttime, there you are again, propped up on your usual seat at your cousin’s study, stealing the neighbor’s all-too innocent wi-fi—like the parasite that you are—skimming through whatever sort of things somebody like you could ever get busy with, unable to sleep, or to accept the fact that sometimes, you just have to learn how to LET GO (i.e. turn the computer off). The thing is, you just can’t stop scrolling. It’s this dopamine thing you’ve probably heard in Psych class. You might’ve forgotten what it really is about, but all you’re sure of is that it’s got something to do with the “less is more” principle. Like how the character limit on Twitter serves a purpose. Anyway, you forgot. And it’s not like it’s all that important. It’s not like you’d remember even if you die trying right now because you’re already sleepy. The tangible part of your brain begins shutting down on its own, forcing your body to feel the same way. To tag along and go with whatever nature has instructed your body to do.

Miss out on anything on the web, but never, ever miss a good night’s sleep.